


Dragon's Tongue

by Chatarou



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 00:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20715458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chatarou/pseuds/Chatarou
Summary: The Hero of Kvatch has ended the Oblivion Crisis and become the new Sheogorath. Only trouble is, he's having trouble accepting things. After all, Martin is dead and now he's turning into a Madgod. So is it really such a surprise when Peryite, the Taskmaster and Orderer of Daedra, pops by and has a little one-to-one with the new Prince?





	Dragon's Tongue

The Hero of Kvatch punched the portal to Mundus.  
  
His fist was met with an angry, snarling flare of energy as the daedric portal refused to let him out.  
  
"What in Oblivion? Why won't the damn thing let me through?"  
  
In his time in the Shivering Isles, the portal had never done this. Not even when he'd been forced to take on the title of Sheogorath and all the joys of rebuilding and reorganising the late Prince's realm. Either way, he still liked to spend most of his time in Tamriel, Sheogorath or not.  
  
Oh, the human had lamented the new title. It was contrived, a little bit weird, and he already had enough titles already. He'd even asked if it was possible to give the position away to someone else. Haskill had simply shook his head and dryly remarked that if he were to do so, he'd cease to exist, because unlike Jyggalag, he'd been a mortal. And mortals could die. As much sense as that made.  
  
And also… there was a certain dead mortal that he wanted - no - needed to visit.  
  
For in his other hand, was a small, humble bouquet of Dragon's Tongues.  
  
"How can a portal malfunction!?" He cried in exasperation. "These things always happen to me!" Frustrated, he threw his arms in the air (but not so it would disturb the flowers. He treated them with the utmost care.) "Why can't things ever go smoothly? Why can't things just be NORMAL!?"  
  
In the past, he'd been a reserved person. Not much of a talker at all. The strong silent type with a hint of mischievousness. But ever since the end of the Oblivion crisis and the start of his time spent in the Shivering Isles, he'd felt himself becoming more and more expressive. Rant-y, almost. It was the stress, he was sure. There was a point in time where it had to catch up to him.  
  
It would also explain the greying hair.  
  
He held himself back as he felt the urge to call out Haskill's name. The last Sheogorath had done that far too often.  
  
He didn't want to be him.  
  
Instead, he held his free hand to his face in frustration. "Oh, Martin, what am I going to do?" His voice had softened to a whisper. He stared at the bouquet in his hand as if the flowers could offer him an answer.  
  
But of course, they couldn't. That was impossible. And Martin wasn't here.  
  
The Hero of Kvatch went to sit on the body of a fallen tree. Had it been there before when he used to use this portal? He couldn't quite recall.  
  
"You said one day that I'd get myself into trouble that I wouldn't be able to get out of. Guess you were right," he said sullenly, as if speaking to someone who wasn't there.  
  
He didn't care if someone stumbled in on him talking to himself. Everyone in the Shivering Isles was crazy, anyway.  
  
"Did I do the right thing? Saving this place?" He asked himself. "Though… I guess I did save lives." The hero chuckled emptily. "Even if they were absolutely mental ones."  
  
A small sliver of guilt ate at him. If he hadn't have been so mind-numbingly bored and lost after the Crisis, he might've outright refused the Mad Prince's offer. Instead he'd leapt in without a second-thought. He'd already been to one realm of Oblivion, how bad could another one be?  
  
If only he knew how inexorably tied to the place he'd become. Now, if he left for more than even a couple of days, Haskill would appear and pester him on some issue of the Madgod's realm. Maybe it was the Chamberlain's more passive-aggressive way of getting his attention away from Tamriel and back to the Shivering Isles.  
  
Speaking of which… "Guess I better find out what's wrong with you, hmm?" He said to the still shimmering portal. With a new goal in his mind ( of which thankfully hadn't gone mad within the past few weeks, an event he was dreading, if it would ever come) the hero rose to his feet and prepared to walk back to New Sheoth to ask Haskill what he thought of the problem. He could do with the exercise, anyway.  
  
It was after a few steps that he was interrupted.  
  
"You're in a worse state than your servant implied, Sheogorath."  
  
The new voice pierced the air and stopped him in his tracks.  
  
The Hero of Kvatch froze. The voice had originated from behind him, and in all his time spent in the Shivering Isles talking to its denizens, he couldn't place whose voice this one belonged to. Still, he couldn't help but feel his anger rise at the intrusion.  
  
"Don't you have anything better to do than bother me? And don't call me that!" He snapped, being mindful of not crushing the flowers still held in his palm. "Go home and do whatever it is you insane people do. I've done enough for you lot. For everyone!" If that wasn't enough to put them off, he didn't know what was, short of sticking an arrow into their face. With that, he continued to walk away.  
  
The footsteps followed behind him. Something wasn't quite right with them, but before he could think on them, the stranger retorted.  
  
"I believe I have many tasks I'd rather be completing. Daedrons don't stop just because I do. However," the stranger paused thoughtfully, and for some reason the Hero of Kvatch felt himself wanting to shiver, "between you and me, I believe that you are the mad one." The owner of the voice sounded amused, almost playful.  
  
He felt a bark of laughter leave his throat. "That's a good one. I'm the only sane person here -"  
  
The Hero of Kvatch felt his voice die as he saw who'd been following. A green, sinuous dragon towered over him, almost as large as his shrine's statue had been. Who could have guessed how accurate its sculptor had been?  
  
"Peryite!? Uh… my Lord," he stumbled over his words. What could he say after having been so offensive? He'd been expecting to visit a statue of a dragon in Mundus, not for a dragon (who had a statue) to visit him in Oblivion. In other words, the last thing he'd been expecting was a Daedric Prince. He wasn't even ready to answer the summons from Sheogorath's followers, let alone this.  
  
"There is no need for formality," Peryite answered simply. "It's not protocol amongst us to do so. As Princes, we are of equal rank, if not influence."  
  
Still, the new Prince of Madness remained nervous. "How long have you been here? I never saw you enter."  
  
"Long enough," said Peryite. "Your powers must still be manifesting for you not to have felt my arrival. But that isn't the issue, is it? You wish to forsake your responsibilities."  
  
"Responsibilities?" The human repeated incredulously. He'd heard this hundreds of times from Haskill, and now Peryite had come all this way just to tell him the same thing? "I never wanted Sheogorath's post. And what sort of responsibilities does a crazy Daedric Prince have? Who even thought of the idea to give a madman responsibilities! And why do I have to do them just because he decided he wanted a change in career!" His tone rose higher and higher as his rant continued, before he stopped in horror. Halfway through his speech he'd started sounding more and more like the Daedric Prince in question. By the Nine, even his accent had lilted in the same way as Sheogorath's for a brief moment.  
  
Peryite looked at his fellow Prince sympathetically. "I forget of your mortal origins," he started, not aware of how the new Prince inwardly cringed. "You had other duties before this. Friends? Family?" The dragon eyed the bouquet in the man's hand. "Forgive me, it's been a long time since anything like this has happened."  
  
The Hero of Kvatch had to wonder why Peryite, of all Princes, was even talking to him like this. He was almost being… kind. Was he just curious about Sheogorath's replacement? Come to see the new oddity? Still, he looked down at the bouquet still in his hand. "Yes," he choked. "I was going to visit one."  
  
"Ah, but the gate was too weak to carry you," Peryite replied. "As amusing as it was to watch you try to punch your way through a portal, you'll find that you won't be able to enter Mundus in your current form anymore."  
  
"What? And why not? It's always worked before! Even after I was appointed… I could walk through! I could go back!"  
  
Peryite appeared unmoved, as if he'd seen it all before. "Unless you're planning on destroying the new statue of Akatosh, I think you'll find yourself as limited as the rest of us," he said.  
  
The hero felt himself reel in disgust at the very idea. "I'd never do anything like that," he denied. "I'm no daedra." He looked up at Peryite and raised a couple hands in innocence. "No offence. Thanks for not invading Mundus, by the way," the hero added.  
  
Peryite contemplated him silently. Then, he loosed a long exasperated sigh before speaking up again. He sounded more like a tired old dragon than a powerful Daedric Lord. "You'll still have to take the position of Sheogorath. Knowing the unpredictability of the last one, you had no idea until it was too late, did you?"  
  
The hero simply nodded. "Look… I'm just a guy that got into too many bar fights. I hardly had a penny to my name before all… this." He motioned to the environment, as if it could really symbolise the enormity of everything that'd happened to him. "I'm a nobody that just happened to be a good fighter. How am I supposed to do the job of a Daedric Lord?"  
  
"I presume the concept of mantling hasn't been explained to you," said Peryite, readying for an explanation. The former mortal sounded like he needed one. "When Jyggalag was defeated, the curse dissipitated. As he intended for you to be the next Prince of Madness, you as an entity became the next best thing. And now you are Sheogorath, as much as the last one was. It was the same way Tiber Septim became an Aedra. He mantled Lorkhan."  
  
"So you're saying I have his problems whether I like it or not," Cyrodiil's champion said darkly. "What a wonderful reward."  
  
"The universe needs a Daedric Prince of Madness. It will recognise you as him whether you want it to or not. I suppose, rather like a parasite, the role has latched to you," Peryite stated simply, with only a hint of fascination. The Daedric Prince of Pestilence couldn't not be interested in the similarities.  
  
"But I can't be him!" The Hero of Kvatch snapped. "For a start, I'm nothing like him. Secondly, I wouldn't even be able to run an inn, let alone a realm of Oblivion! Akatosh knows what'll happen when I kick the bucket. Will Haskill get the position or do I get to crown the new sucker?"  
  
Peryite shook his head. "You are immortal now. Unless something drastic happens, you can't die. I've been delaying in telling you this, especially considering your opinion of us, but you are also a daedra now." He paused upon seeing the other Prince's disbelief. "I have no reason not to tell you the truth."  
  
The Hero of Kvatch couldn't help but step back in disbelief. "No way," he denied. "I can't be a daedra. I'm not a daedra. I don't look anything like a daedra," he stammered, then looked at Peryite seriously. "I fought them in the Oblivion Crisis." He paused, as if remembering all the horrors he had to endure. "And look, I might be forced to live here, but I'm not a daedra. I'm a human. I'll do my best to look after this place, but…"  
  
"You have a clean soul," observed Peryite, who was now mildly surprised. Most would have relished the aspect of immortality and utterly ignored the 'drawback' of being a daedra. "I couldn't have chosen a better succesor myself. Maybe there is a method in madness."  
  
"A clean soul?" The Hero of Kvatch asked. "I have murdered people and stolen things, you know. I'm the last person I'd call clean."  
  
"And yet the grime of humanity failed to tarnish you," Peryite stated. "Listen, former mortal, for whereas the Aedra may judge you for what you have done, we judge you for who you are. And I can sense clearly that you are clean in mind and spirit. Perhaps what you did was out of desperation, but it has failed to dirty your soul."  
  
And like a canvas, Peryite thought darkly, it would be perfect for painting on. Jyggalag had been a terrifying genius, no matter what state of mind he was in.  
  
"Well, um, thanks," the Hero of Kvatch replied, sounding slightly flustered. How do you respond to someone telling you that you have a clean soul? "But I'm not a daedra. There has to be a mistake. I don't feel any different and I sure haven't turned red like a Dremora. And I'll take the role of Sheogorath if I have to, but I don't want to be him."  
  
Peryite had to consider what he said next. "You haven't noticed the changes?" He asked.  
  
"Changes? You mean the graying hair?" The hero laughed and brushed his free hand through the messy crop. He'd just hit thirty when the whole mess started, and now silvery strands mingled with sleek black. "Too much adventuring. I think there are only so many times you can come close to death before it ages you."  
  
Peryite only stared at him with a concerned frown.  
  
It was a good thing the Taskmaster, orderer of the unruliest of daedra, understood the concept known as tact. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?" He asked casually.  
  
"I don't need a mirror to get ready," the former adventurer replied stubbornly, almost pridefully. "I think the last time I needed one was one, two weeks ago? For a meeting."  
  
"It's a good thing the portal blocked your exit around the same time, then. Wouldn't want the mortals seeing you wander around looking like that," Peryite replied with a playful smirk that he couldn't help. It seemed keeping the former mortal in good humour distracted him from feeling despair. Although who knew with a Prince of Madness?  
  
"Looking like what?" The champion asked innocently, suddenly curious. It was the one thing that'd always gotten him into trouble, lead him to adventure, treasure, and eventually destiny.  
  
Peryite just shook his long draconic head. He'd let the other look for himself.  
  
Seeing this, the Hero of Kvatch rolled his eyes and took out a steel dagger. The reflective surface would do.  
  
When he brought it to his face and saw two amber cat's eyes staring right back, he almost dropped the damn thing.  
  
Those vicious, slitted pupils of Sheogorath's were on his face.  
  
He looked… evil. Inhuman.  
  
And was it him, or had his facial features morphed slightly? Become squarer, sharper?  
  
"My eyes… they used to be brown," he said distantly, as if the colour was the only wrong with them. In reality, he was horrified. How long had he been walking around, looking like this? How long had it been since he'd been robbed of his original eyes? Haskill had never said a word.  
  
He felt the urge to bring up a hand to cover them from view, but it'd be pointless. He needed them to see where he was going. They were his portal to sensing the outside world, and the hardy adventurer inside told him that he needed them, whatever they looked like. People would just have to see his eyes as he saw theirs. No matter how terrible he felt about them.  
  
Peryite seemed unfazed. The dragon Prince half expected the new Prince to start manically chattering about something that was only vaguely related to eyes. It was what the old Sheogorath would've done. Instead, he said something quite different.  
  
"Add twenty years to the stress," he muttered under his breath.  
  
Perhaps it'd been far too long since the Taskmaster had heard a good joke, but he laughed. "Thankfully, we don't age like that. Otherwise I dread to think how old I'd look," he jested, aware that he may have skirted around a potential disaster.  
  
"Peryite," the other Prince stopped and turned to the dragon, his tone now serious. At some point, the duo had begun slowly walking together.  
  
"Yes?" He replied.  
  
"There is still a way for me to go back, isn't there? To go to Tamriel, I mean. And make myself look normal?" The new Sheogorath asked, still sounding unsure. "There were stories of Sheogorath disguising himself to interact with us. I mean, Mundus."  
  
Hearing Sheogorath sound so sane, with identity issues to boot, was unsettling even for Peryite. Still, the Prince took it on himself to explain. "Yes." Peryite craned his sinuous neck as if he were inspecting the new Prince. "I believe you should be powerful enough to manifest an avatar. I shall show you how to do it once we get to your palace."  
  
"What…? Really?" The champion asked, shocked. "I don't know why you've been so nice. But honestly, thank you. I always used to think you were one of the evil Princes."  
  
Peryite chuckled. "And some would think you are an evil Prince," he replied nonplussed. "But let the others think what they may. I admit, my reputation is not the best, but I am the Taskmaster. The other daedra are my responsibility, whether they think they are above my help or not."  
  
The new Prince could only smile. Peryite wasn't so bad.  
  
"Now," said Peryite, "let's make haste. We don't want your flowers to wilt before we can get to Mundus, do we?"

**Author's Note:**

> I always had my own little headcanon on how the new Hero of Kvatch eventually turns into Sheogorath. I mean, being made into a Daedric Prince that already has a set form and appearance is definitely going to do things to you. Peryite also seems like one of the few Princes that'd care enough to visit the new Prince and give him an introduction. He's pretty nice to the player in-game (check out his Daggerfall dialogue if you're curious) and cut text from the game even describes him as 'The most affable of the Daedra Princes with the worst reputation.'
> 
> I also imagine that the Hero of Kvatch would have become good friends with Martin in a narrative sense. Wouldn't you be sad if someone you knew from the start of the Crisis, watched grow and develop into a leader, only to see them sacrifice themselves to protect everyone at the end? C'mon, Martin was the real hero.
> 
> Also, if you're wondering why Peryite isn't very surprised/says what he says about the Hero's situation, the Hero of Kvatch isn't the first mortal to become a Daedric Prince in canon.


End file.
